Page 49 of Promise Me Sunshine

Dozens of inside jokes I attempt to explain: a jar of peanut butter left behind in the shower. Granny panties as a birthday gift. A box of condoms hidden in the tampon box.

It is mostly nonsense but he’s laughing in most of the right places, a steady stream of tissues passed from the tissue box to my hand.

To my surprise, I don’t make it to two hours. After about forty-five minutes my throat is dry and I’m not crying anymore. Words and panic are no longer taking turns slinging themselves at the fence lining the edges of my brain.

I roll to my side and study his profile. He’s got a grizzly bear brow and a sharp line of a mouth. I like his nose. It’s got a bump at the bridge. He reminds me of a gravel road. At night. With nothing but headlights to show you what comes next.

When he seems to realize that I’ve run out of steam, he stands and gets me another glass of water.

“Thank you,” he says as I drink it down.

I blink up at him. “For what? I should be thankingyou.”

“For telling me about her. I know it’s not easy to talk about her. Just like it’s not easy tonottalk about her. But you’re trying. So, thanks.”

He lies back down on his pillow and reaches one long arm up, over me, and drags a blanket off the bed. It’s big enough to cover me completely and to cover one of his legs. That seems to work for him, though, because he crosses his arms over his chest, lets his head tip toward me, and closes his eyes.

“Miles,” I whisper.

“Hm.”

“…”

His eyes peek open at my pause.

I can see from his expression that there’s nothing I actually need to say out loud right now. My eyelids get heavy and when I blink them back open, he’s still gazing at me.

Chapter Twelve

A few days later, Ainsley and I take advantage of an early fall sunny day and go lie in Central Park together. A hundred feet past our feet there’s a mossy, green pool teeming with turtles. A hundred heads past our heads there’s a horde of shirtless middle-aged men galloping after a Frisbee and shouting things like, “You gotta lay out for that, Irv!”

“Hey, Ains.”

“Yeah?” She rolls over and looks at me, Game Boy about two inches from her face.

I pillow my hands under one cheek. “Do you like Miles?”

“Sure.” She shrugs. “He’s my uncle.”

“Do you…remember when he first came around?”

Ainsley sits up and picks at her shoelaces. “Yeah. It was right about the time that PopPop died.” She tugs harder at her shoelaces. “He was kind of scary.”

“Your pop-pop?”

“No,” she laughs. “Miles was.”

“Why?”

“He and Mom yelled at each other a lot. And…he doesn’t laugh or smile much.”

I nod. “I can understand why that would be scary. And he and your mom need to stop doing that, for sure. But, you know, none of that is because he’s mad.” She picks more at her shoelaces and I can tell she’s listening intently. “He does that because he’s nervous.”

She doesn’t say anything so I continue. “Sometimes when someone is nervous they can’t really have fun or make jokes.”

The Frisbee players break into a cacophonous argument that ends in raucous laughter, and Ainsley and I turn to watch the hubbub.

“He doesn’t have to be nervous around me,” Ainsley says almost absently. Now she’s got hold of my shoelaces too. She’s diligently tying us together.

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